Secret Desires
by karate0kat
Summary: Dean has an itch that needs to be scratched. One shot. Dean/Jo pairing


Title: Secret Desires  
Characters: Dean/Jo  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: Dean has an itch that needs to be scratched.  
Author's Note: I wrote this in about 20 minutes and it's unbetaed, so go easy on it, lol. This is also the first time I've ever written anything NC-17 in my life.

* * *

Dean strode through the bar into the storeroom with confidence, not stopping to ask permission just walking through like he owned the place. He didn't know how he knew she would be back there; hell, he didn't know how he knew she was at this bar. He also didn't know how he'd gotten there. He just knew that he was, and that he had to find her, to see her, to touch her.

Her back was to him, she was shelving something, not paying a lot of attention to the door. He should scold her for that later; she should be more aware of her surroundings, even when she wasn't hunting, but right now there were more important things he had to do. She threw a halfhearted "employees only" over her shoulder, still not seeing it was him. She turned though when he locked the door. He saw her hand go for a knife hidden in a holster up her sleeve and he approved the fact that she was armed, but recognition dawned before she'd drawn the weapon and she merely stepped back in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, confused. He hadn't spoken to her in a long time. He'd never called. He'd broken his promise, just like she knew he would. But now he was here.

Dean didn't answer her out loud. He wasn't sure he could have said it with words, even if he had wanted to try. He thought it best to just show her. He rushed to her, not giving her time to react. He crushed his lips to hers, desperate and seeking, taking what he wanted, what he needed. He held her face in his hands gently, a stark contrast to the ferociousness of his kiss. She moaned into his mouth and he felt himself go hard. She pushed herself against him, not understanding but not needing to. Her mouth opened for him and he plunged his tongue in, tasting her. Her arms were around him now, her nails digging into his back, driving him wild. He ripped open her over shirt, literally ripping it, unable to take the time to undo the buttons, and pulled her undershirt over her head. His hands ran the length of her body while he continued to kiss her senseless.

He tangled one hand in her hair, pulling her head back gently so he could kiss her neck and shoulders.

His other arm snaked around her back and ass, pulling her tight against the bulging front of his jeans. She gasped his name and he knew he couldn't wait much longer. He let her go long enough to pull his own shirt off, then their arms were around each other again. Dean picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, her arms entwined around his neck, their mouths locked together. He carried her to the nearby countertop, setting her down so he could undo the zipper of her pants. She leaned forward and licked his chest while he undid his own pants and dropped them to his ankles. He picked her up again, kissing her passionately and finally, finally, sliding inside her.

"Dean!" she screamed.

"Dean."

"Dean!"

"DEAN!!"

Dean woke with a start. He sat up in the passenger seat of the Impala and looked over at his brother who had just been shouting his name to wake him up. Dean had given Sam a turn to drive so he could take a nap. And what a nap it had been.

"Sorry man," Sam said, "it's just, you were…uh…making…sounds..."

Dean searched for a proper response but came up with nothing, slouching back down, at first looking anywhere but at Sam, but he glared when Sam started to snicker.

"Shut it Sam. Like you've never had a dirty dream before."

"But I've never had that kind of dream about Jo." Dean jumped.

"Who said anything about Jo?"

"You. 'Oh Jo, mmmm, Jo'" Sam snickered again. Dean punched him in the arm.

"You say anything to anyone and I'll beat the snot out of you."

"Whatever you say Casanova."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

The End


End file.
